


The Silver Fox Teahouse

by UnshoddenShipper



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bilba is a chef, Boffins - Freeform, Bofur spends retirement money on hobbit food, Dori refuses to let go of the teashop thing, F/M, Rule 63, bofur and nori are BFFs, bofur would saw off an arm to get her number, dori knows, fem!Bilbo, pre-quest but not very, restaurant AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-10 12:52:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnshoddenShipper/pseuds/UnshoddenShipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An ongoing fill for Ajir's prompt! (http://lateforerebor.tumblr.com/post/74602844234/gonna-share-my-prompt-on-tumblr-because-im-kinda)</p><p>The death of her mother made Bag End unbearable. Inspired by Belladonna’s stories, Bilba packs a bag and goes for an adventure to anywhere. Her travels take her through Erid Luin and to The Silver Fox, a dwarven teashop-turned-resturaunt in the Blue Mountains. The owner- Dori- needs a new cook, and she exchanges her work for a place to sleep. She and the Ri's become thick as thieves, if you'll pardon the expression, and hobbit cooking quickly gets the Fox bustling! Now Bofur, he stops by for the occasional pint after working in the mines. But that new cook has him coming in more often.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bergamot

“ _Metun menu rukhas_!” SLAM! Heavy doors burst open and a massive dwarf stormed out, swinging a sack over his shoulder. “ _Rasup gamat_!”

“ _Gamut manan ai-menu_!” Her head whipped back around to see a second dwarf on the porch, shaking a dishtowel after his disappearing back. “ _Birashagimi_ , ah- oh!”

The newcomer took a double take at the sight of her. “I am terribly sorry, madam. A foul tempered cook, no need to fret! But we are still open for business! Yes! Please, do come in.”

She took a moment to observe the building. It was one floor, structurally simple and had a sign- a rather adorable gray fox was carved there. Her eyes travelled down to the silver-haired dwarf at the door. It would be terribly rude to decline, so without much else to do she thanked him and allowed him to open the door for her.

A moderate din of voices greeted them when they entered, all low and speaking that rough language of theirs. “Sit, sit! Let me get you a nice cup of tea, on the house- you look exhausted my dear. Chamomile?”

“Oh, no thank you.”

“Oh but I insist, after that fuss.” He looked earnest.

She took a breath. “Black tea, then.”

“Splendid!”

With the barkeep occupied, she slid off her knapsack with a relieved shrug, letting it dangle and fall to the floor by her feet. She took a seat in the nearest open barstool and her bones rejoiced. Ahh, to sit on a cushion again! She reclined and closed her eyes in bliss. The sweet smell of applewood and crackle of the stove fires danced their way up, up and spread out like a tree filling the room. On either side of her burly bearded dwarves drank light afternoon beer and paid her little mind. Across the bar, the barkeep whistled a cheery tune and clinked spoons into mugs noisily, prompting her to crack one eye open and take in the place. Unlike the cozy cob back home, cool grey stone made up the walls and the floor and the ceiling, just like the rest of town. But splendid red rugs warmed the floor and yellow afternoon poured in through tall, edged windows. The wall furthest- surrounding the fireplace- was lined with shelves. These housed teapots and assorted jars made of intricate metalwork and even glass. Cornered tables were arranged in orderly rows with matching chairs, filled with hulking dwarves eating and chatting. It was almost too grid-like for her hobbit sensibilities, but it was pleasant all the same.

“Now,” The barkeep began with a dignified air, delicately pouring hot water into each earthen mug. “I am Dori son of Lori.”

Well that made her sit up! What kind of hobbit was she! “I am so sorry, I- Bilba Baggins of the Shire, at your service Master Dori.”

He smiled and it crinkled his whole face. “No need for formalities, my dear- I am but a teashop owner.” He handed her a petite brown mug and settled with his elbows on the bar, cradling his own mug in his hands.

“But was that not your cook who left just now?”

“Ah, yes. Well, this began as a teashop, but the customers kept coming and so did requests you see, so we expanded to dinner, then to supper and finally a tavern as well. Inevitable.” He groused the last bit into his mug.

“A wise business decision,” she nodded, grinning.

“Dori, _mukhuh brog_?” A deep voice called. Dori pardoned himself and rounded into the kitchen. It was open to the main room, separated from the dining area by a half-wall, allowing a myriad of smells to drift in as supper orders were placed. Inside, one panicked cook chopped vegetables. Bilba watched Dori pull out a rack of bread loaves before closing her eyes again. Gracious, but she was tired. With a start she realized her mug was tipping. No nodding off, now!

Bilba took a deep whiff of steeping tea, and was delighted to find it smoky and rich. Impatient to try it she took a careful sip, and held the tea on her tongue pensively before swallowing. “Do I taste bergamot?” She mused aloud, just as Dori rounded behind the bar again.

“Wh-why yes!” Dori’s face split in a toothy smile. “I blend many of the teas myself- you could tell?”

“The day will never dawn that which a hobbit couldn’t.” She smiled wider, and took another sip. The door jangled open behind her. A much younger dwarf entered, a satchel of scrolls at his side and books in his arms. Kicking the door shut behind him he looked to the pair, and his eyebrows shot up under a mop of ginger bangs. He smiled, and it wrinkled his face just as it had Dori’s.

“Ah, yes, Miss Baggins, this is my brother, Ori-“

“At your service!” The youth interjected as he brought his burden to the bar.

“-Ori, this is Miss Bilba Baggins, of the Shire.”

“At yours.” The hobbit nodded politely to him.

“You’re from the Shire?” Ori asked, placing his books on the polished wood. “Do you have hairy feet?”

“ _Ori_!” The elder brother cried.

But Bilba just grinned and turned in her stool. Extending her foot from under the bar she wiggled her furry toes with some embarrassment, as they were muddy and horrifically unbrushed.

“There. Now, if you’re done being rude please remove your things.” Dori chided with furrowed brow.

Ori ignored him. “Are these your bags? Are you a traveller?”

“ _Ori_!”

“They’re mine, yes. I’ve been on an adventure you see, and I was just looking for an inn when the cook-“

“Galda quit.” Ori rounded on his brother, lips pursed. It was a statement, not a question. Dori looked resolute. “She and I run a kitchen differently. I run a kitchen, and she runs a disgrace.”

“Yes, well, as I was saying, I was looking for an inn. Do you know of one nearby?”

“Well, there’s the Brick Shithouse,” Ori mused. Then shook his head at her. “It’s not very good.”

“Ah, just a moment-“ Dori pardoned himself as he was flagged down by a bearded pair. While unable to be heard, he shook his head ‘no’, gesturing to the kitchen.

Bilba pondered for a moment, sipping her tea. “May I propose an arrangement?” She offered upon Dori’s return.

“Of course, my dear,” Dori folded his elbows on the bar.

“Considering you are in need of a cook, and I am in need of lodging, we could arrange a trade? I could work here as a chef, just until you find a proper replacement.”

“You cook?” Ori asked with interest.

“Extensively,” the hobbit affirmed. “I even won the Lithe baking competition- against Grandmother Boffin no less.” She added to the dwarf, who had the decency to look impressed. Dori took up his own teacup and gazed pensively into it, then nodded to himself. “That sounds most agreeable, Miss Baggins.” He agreed. “A delightful arrangement!”

She grinned and raised her teacup in cheers, which Dori returned with a smile. “We are happy to offer you our brother Nori’s old room," He said, and took a sip. "Mahal knows he hasn’t used it in months.”

\- - - - - -

 _Metun menu rukhas_ \- you dine with orcs

 _Rasup gamat_ \- farewell

 _Gamut manan ai-menu_ \- good day to you

 _Birashagimi_ – formal apology

 _Mukhuh brog_ – may I [get] bread


	2. Oatmeal

“Uggghhh,” Bilba groaned, rubbing at her face clumsily. “Nnnnn…” Streeeetch, sprawling across the bed, she felt her poor spine pop, pop, popping up, back into place. She collapsed, breathing slowly through her mouth. Everything she saw was an obnoxious pink, and her face felt warm and her mouth was too dry. Was she even still alive?

Cracking her eyes open she grimaced and recoiled. Turning over, the pink of her eyelids turned to black and she tried again- slowly, scrunching her face in displeasure at it, the hobbit opened her eyes. A geometric quilt sprawled before her, dropping off to the oblivion of faded blue rug on wood flooring. She lay there a while, blinking.

She had never been an early riser, but the summer sun warmed her back and it had to be noon. Unfortunately for the sun, this bed was too comfortable for Bilba to care. It wasn’t made of cotton as her own was- it seemed to be stuffed with grass and she lay atop a sheet of wool. Rough and firm, yes, but much better than the road. She yawned, and snuggled deeper under the quilt. Much better than the road.

At risk of falling asleep again she sat upright, swung her legs off the bed one after the other, and rose herself to her feet.

Only to sit down again with a grunt. She hadn’t slept this well since her mother died. The thought, unbidden and unwelcome, brought a frown to her face.

“Bilba?” Dori’s voice called through the heavy door. “The teashop will be opening in an hour; I’m off to begin setting up.”

“I’ll be down in a moment,” She called back to him.

“Ah! Gracious, good morning! When you arrive I’ll show you around the kitchen, is that alright?”

The motherly tone made her grin. “Quite alright.”

“Excellent, my dear." Bilba rubbed at her face while he spoke. "Now for breakfast there’s oatmeal and tea; we have honey, and, dried fruits, and hot water in the kettle. Please help yourself.” 

"Thank you. Good morning," She said, but heavy footfalls took him away. She was alone.

Bilba took a breath, and stood.

She had taken a bath at Dori’s insistence last night, and slept with wet hair. It had been a mistake. After rehydrating her throat and face in the washbowl, she set to work brushing out this curly disaster. Interestingly, there was a vanity in the room, in the corner by the door, with a broad mirror and stool. She had found it empty and placed two brushes inside- one for her head, and the other her feet, but there was room for many more.

Staring blankly at her reflection as she stroked her head presentable, she saw a tanner version of herself than she remembered. “Bagginses don’t burn like Tooks,” father had said, trying not to laugh as her poor mother rubbed her pale face in ointment. But her eyes were hazel, like her mother’s, and her hair was light brown, like her mother’s, and she had freckles like her mother’s and nose like her mother’s all she could see was Belladonna. She frowned. 

There, that didn’t look like her mother. She set the comb down with a sigh.

“And here we have your standard pots and pans,” Dori gestured to them, all clean cast iron and hanging on the wall above the- “Stove, of course, and the stew pot-” also cast iron, over a newly made fire- “Here, the knives-“ ten different kinds kept in a block on the cutting board, possessing a view of patron tables- “To the right is the oven, yes, you’ll find dry ingredients under the window there as well. The meats are cured and hanging in the pantry. That’s this door, allow me- there we are. This is where we keep our oils as well…” He prattled on, but her attention was drawn to a rather small recipe book. Thumbing through it, she nodded absentmindedly as he explained the alphabetical spice order.

“This is what’s on the menu?” She asked, holding it up for him to see.

The door jangled open, and Ori strolled in. “Dori!” He called, catching sight of the pair and frowning. “I just heard Burkil quit yesterday. You lost both of the cooks in one day?”

“You go through them like flies,” Bilba said, casting Dori a sidelong glance. But he waved them both off. 

“Yes, he quit after we closed last night. Says he got us through yesterday, but can't bear to work without Galda. Which I think is a heap of-”

“They leave because you yell at them,” Ori said with amusement, coming to join the pair with folded arms.

“I do not yell, I correct them! Things belong a particular way- the dishes should color coordinate, and the silver should shine.”

“How else would it be?” Bilba asked with furrowed brow, and Dori gestured to her triumphantly.

“There, see?”

Ori nodded indulgently. “Yes, but now we’re down a cook again.”

Dori held up a finger, smiling. “Ah, not so! You can join Bilba in the kitchen, Ori.”

“Me? I can’t cook!”

“But you can’t quit either!”

“Master Balin-“

“I’ll talk to Balin,” Dori put his hands on his hips, unmoved. “He shouldn’t have any trouble moving your studies around the Fox’s hours.”

Ori opened his mouth as if to object, but closed it again.

“The Fox,” Bilba repeated, eyes on the floor, then to Ori. “It just occurred to me that I don’t know the name of this place.”

“Ha!” Ori beamed, and she grinned back. “It’s the Silver Fox Teahouse, but it’s not really a teahouse anymore-”

“It’s an expanded teahouse!” Dori interjected.

“Why the Silver Fox?” Bilba asked, watching Ori smirk at Dori and the latter roll his eyes.

“It was our brother Nori’s idea,” Dori explained. “It’s a joke.”

“About Dori,” the younger dwarf laughed. Bilba’s eyes trailed up Dori’s unamused face, to his intricately braided silver hair. The implication dawned on her and she struggled to keep a straight face, but she snorted with laughter and clamped a hand to her mouth, fighting it back. Ori laughed in earnest then, and soon they were both snickering helplessly as Dori strode to the window.

“Laugh all you like!” He shook his head, hanging a wooden sign in the window. “But we are open.”


	3. Fruit

“Two fried dumplings, one stuffed cabbage, a small apple cake, and a bowl of sweet stew!” Dori called into the kitchen as he dropped off the list.

“Two what?” Bilba asked incredulously, elbow deep in dough.

“Fried dumplings!” Ori ladled orange liquid from the stew pot as he spoke. “You’ve never had fried dumpling?”

Crackling fires sounded all over the kitchen, and a bizarre range of smells alien to the hobbit mingled together. It was a heavy smell, savory and spiced. 

“I haven’t so much as heard of this food,” Bilba confessed, dusting one hand on her apron and flipping pages of the recipe book. The hobbit’s curly hair was tied back to keep it from the cooking, but strands clung to her face and with both hands occupied, she blew them away. “Stuffed cabbage, here we are. We need beef- oh my, beef, expensive- onion, carrot, powdered garlic-“ 

“Got them!” Ori exclaimed, fetching them nearly as quickly as she spoke.

“Start removing the cabbage leaves,” Bilba squinted her eyes at the page. “We boil them for… we roll the cabbage leaves? What?”

Ori smiled, tearing layers off the cabbage. Still making sense of it all, Bilba set the dough to rise and rushed to the cutting board. Dragging the carrots to her she drew the vegetable knife like a weapon of war and chopped with quick, precise movements, pushing the pieces aside and grabbing the onion.

“You’re very good at this,” Ori commented, fetching a pan.

“Thank you. I have no idea what I’m doing,” she said flatly, and the dwarf laughed.

“Well I love this stuff,” he pumped water into the pan and set it on the stove, tossing the cabbage leaves in. “Green things like this.”

“Vegetables? They’re delicious!” Flipping through recipes quickly she found fried dumplings, and cast him a glace over her shoulder. “Wait, don’t add the leaves until the water boils.”

“Oh, whoops!”

The Silver Fox Teahouse had entered its dinner rush. Husky voices filled its walls with noise and energy, seemingly every dwarf a worker, taking break for their midday meal. 

Bilba had been away from the Shire several months before her arrival, but still marveled at the change. Back home, this would be time for luncheon, and the day’s work would be planned around food- here, food was squeezed in around the day’s work.

The flow of orders eventually slowed, leveled, and petered out. Bilba was splattered with juices and dusts of all descriptions, and her hair fell from its tie to frame her face in frazzled strands. Ori didn’t fare much better; pushing bits and ends of vegetables off the chopping board and into the growing pile in the waste bin, he looked as if a part of him had died.

“I never want to see a vegetable again,” he told her.

She sat heavily on a stool, leaning her head back against the wall. “That’s unfortunate but you’re staying here for supper,” she replied, closing her eyes. Who knew she’d ever think it was a good idea to only open for two meals?

“Well done,” Dori appeared, clamping his hands together. “Well done indeed. My compliments to the chef!”

“Thank you,” the pair intoned, and Ori yawed.

 

In the alley behind the restaurant, Bilba washed her face and hands in a rainwater barrel- chilly and outrageously refreshing. After the oils, steams and fires, it felt like bathing in a spring. Taking an apple from her apron and rubbing at it, the hobbit sat on stone steps. It was too big to hold in one hand, so she cradled it in both and took a bite. The taste caught her off guard- it wasn’t just green, but sour as well! She puckered and eyed it suspiciously, but decided it was alright. 

Summer was stretching on, and the sun was bright but cool atop these mountains. Shadows were sharp on the stone walls around her, and the breeze was crisp. Bilba folded herself up and leaned against the doorway, looking to the sky as she ate. Pale, robin’s egg blue. She took a bite and sighed; she missed Bag End. As a child, this kind of weather would see her running amuck outside, possibly with Fortinbras, or Dora. If they were close enough to hear, Father would call them back to the smail and come out with a bowl of fresh fruit and cream. After he died, she still thought he would. And after Mother died… well, here she was.

It was foreign, this dwarf town. And small. Bilba resolved she’d see more of it when she got the chance- and find some grass for her poor feet. But enjoying just being off them for the time being, she ate in peaceful solitude as the mountain breeze rustled her clothes.

 

“Tell me, my dear, what do you think of your first day?” Dori asked, coming to the dividing counter as Bilba rang the bell for plate of potato pastries.

“I’m grateful for Ori!” She replied honestly, placing her hands on her hips as Dori picked up the plate. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about how any of this is supposed to look, or taste- oh don’t worry, we use fresh spoons.”

Dori hummed, accepting the dish Ori bustled over before retreating.

“Well, if we can accommodate you any way, you let us know!” The elder Dwarf nodded to her and was off. Wiping her forehead with her arm, Bilba watched Dori set the plates down at a table and the patrons smile around their beards. The hobbit had never worked a restaurant before, but couldn’t help but feel the Ri’s were more caring for her than the average employer. 

The thought made Bilba smile to herself.

\- - - - -

Background on menu:

It’s Jewish! All the dwarf dishes in this chapter were based off of Jewish cuisine. Tolkien connected dwarves to the Jewish people both in writing and interview during 1964, so I thought it’d be fitting to model the menu with that in mind.

Fried dumpling – Actually knish, a savory filling covered in dough which is then baked, grilled or fried.

Stuffed Cabbage – Holishkes; cabbage leaves stuffed with meat, veggies and a tomato-based sauce.

Apple Cake – Very sweet! Made without dairy (uses apple juice instead). Spongy with chunks of apples in it. 

Sweet stew –Tzimmes. It’s usually orange, and made with carrots, sweet potatoes and sometimes prunes.

Potato pastries– Burekas; flaky pastries stuffed with cheese, minced meat or vegetables.


	4. Fudge

A bell rang down the tunnel, followed by a holler.

“We’re done for the day lads! Pack it up.”

The miner stopped his swing, bringing his pick to the floor with a relieved sigh. Plucking off his hat, he swiped at his sweaty, filthy brow with an equally filthy handkerchief.

“Bofur!” A grimy redhead approached, shovel in hand. “What say you and I grab a beer, eh?”

He pretended to ponder this a moment. “Oh, I think I can spare the time,” he smiled, swinging his pick to his shoulder.

 

“Where to, Gloin?” Bofur asked as a dozen or so miners made their way to the surface.

“There’s your brother’s place.”

“Always feels strange buyin’ things at the Drum,” Bofur confessed. “Orderin’ food from my sister-in-law, Bom wavin’ from the kitchen.” He did a little mock-wave, and Gloin grinned.

“That just leaves the Fox, then,” the elder said, turning in his lantern. “Mahal, I miss the city.”

 

The sky was that post-sunset gloaming of purple and orange, stars twinkling awake. Folks were lighting streetlamps, and making supper in the windows, and sitting on porches smoking pipes. Crickets sang peacefully and Bofur breathed in deeply the smell of summer evening.

“I wonder what the old Fox himself has gotten up to lately,” Gloin remarked as they mounted the restaurant’s stone steps.

“Balin, probably.”

“HA ha ha ha!”

They were met with a wave of warmth and noise as the door chimed their entrance.

This teahouse of questionable technicality was packed with people, and a minstrel strung pleasant conversation music by the fire (as they always seemed to be). All the windows were open, letting in the lovely evening and its cricket song. Silverwear gleamed in the warm lighting, and several dwarves- not just Dori- bustled about tending the patrons.

“I’ve never seen it so busy!” Gloin marveled, and Bofur raised his eyebrows, swiveling his head this way and that.

“This way sirs, if you please,” a lass greeted them, and lead them to a table by the window still stacked with dirty dishes. She piled them all in one hand and wiped the surface clean with the other, apologizing- “We’re full to the brim tonight!” – and left.

The pair sat down slowly, still looking around, and picked up their menus carefully.

“I want more beer than anything,” Gloin mused over his menu, taking out his spectacles.

“…What’s a ‘seedcake’?” Bofur asked with knitted brow, eyes trailing over the words carefully. Beside every menu item, new or familiar, there was a suggested tea.

“I’ve not heard of ‘pork pie’,” Gloin said slowly, “But now that I’ve read it I need one.”

They read on. Gloin with ease, Bofur slowly and deliberately.

“Now what’s ‘fudge’? It’s paired with Jarl Grey tea.”

“Sounds foreign.”

They sat in companionable silence.

“Ready to order?” A cheerful server appeared, pen and note at the ready.

“Pork pie fer me!” Gloin started, “With the largest flagon of Stout draft ye have. …And,” he casted a glance back at the menu. “An, emm… _‘oo-long’_ tea, please.”

“Oolong tea,” the waiter repeated, scribbling as plates clinked and voices clamored around them. He turned to Bofur. “And for you?” 

Bofur took the breath to speak and turned to look at the waiter, but movement caught his eye. Glancing to it, his eyes widened. Leaning around the server to see better, Bofur’s breath froze.

It was a woman, standing profile. Soft brown hair pulled back, framing wild curly wisps around the most beautiful face he had ever seen. Round and freckled, with an upturned nose and plump lips, brow arching over clear eyes, concentrated on her work. She tossed food in a pan over an open flame and stood like the earth grew from her feet.

“Bofur?” Gloin prodded, removing his spectacles. “Ah, seedcake for the lad. Thank ye. Bofur?”

The miner, still smeared in grime and filth, snapped his jaw shut and looked back to Gloin with wide eyes.

“Come back te me lad. What-“ Gloin turned to get a look at the kitchen, eyes sweeping the scene. “I don’t see- oh! OHH! Oh, hohoho!” He chortled.

“What are you on about?” Bofur asked, blinking.

“I didn’t see at first, she’s a beardless little elf.”

“She’s not an elf she-“ He glanced back to her, then double-take. Pointed ears flared from her hair and not a strand of beard graced her face. Well she was still too small for an elf. And she couldn’t be a child, she was… developed, in a… womanly fashion.

“She’s a beautiful woman,” Bofur finished gruffly, gesturing, looking at the table.

Gloin guffawed. “Talk to the lass then.”

“She’s working,” Bofur sat straighter.

“Never stopped you,” The leonine man said as the drink flagon arrived. Nodding his thanks, Gloin poured a foaming mug of beer and pushed it across the table. “Drink.”

Bofur drank.

Gloin drank.

They both drank again.

“Durin’s beard that is good,” Gloin mused to his mug.

“What would I say to her?” Bofur blurted suddenly.

“You’re always talking! Surely you’re not bashful.”

“A course not! A lass like tha’… I’d, I’d want to _woo_ her, nothing casual about it.”

Gloin drank, eyes never leaving the younger dwarf's face.

Their food was brought to the table, along with Gloin’s oolong tea in a petite white pot with matching cup and saucer.

Thanking the waiter absentmindedly it occurred to Bofur he’d never ordered.

“Eat,” Gloin repeated, pushing an adorable miniloaf to him. It had a golden top and black dots all over. Glancing at his filthy hands, Bofur opted for the silverware, his companion already tucking in.

“What is this,” Gloin breathed in awe, staring at his pie.

“I know what I’m goin’ to talk to her about,” Bofur declared around the buttery cascade of sweetness and fat in his mouth. He swallowed. “Ah! I can’t do it now!”

“Coward heart!”

Unable to resist, Bofur took another bite before continuing with his mouth full. “Look a’me!” He gestured to the soot-spirit that was his appearance, topped with braids falling apart and a reek of sweat. “I’m dishgusting.”

“Aye, but a woman loves a man who works,” Gloin said, and took up the little teapot carefully. His hands were bigger than it was and he poured it with much care.

“What’s that now? Tea?” Bofur asked with genuine curiosity.

“Aye. _Oo-long_.”

“May I give it a try?”

“Stop oglin’ women and get yer own damn tea.”


	5. Icing

Bilba was whisking when a dwarf on a mission opened the door. He was greeted by a waitress, seated alone, and adjusted his hat on damp hair.

The low chatter of patrons buzzed softly as the Fox enjoyed a slow pace. The soothing drone of rain ushered most folks into their homes, rather than out to eat. But Dori dropped off an order with an odd expression, and Ori read it aloud quizzically.

“Chef’s choice?”

Bilba’s eyebrow quirked, and she looked pleased. “How adventurous.”

“What should we make?” He asked, pulling another order from the oven.

“I say something filling. It’s a day for comfort food,” she said, pulling a bowl towards her.

Hmm.

“Fish and chips!” She declared, scooping from the flour sack and creating a cloud. Ori dropped off a few russet potatoes as he passed, balancing filled orders on his other arm.

She rounded the kitchen, setting a pan to flame and cutting fat into it. She fetched bicarbonate of soda, four haddock fillets and malt vinegar, and ended back at her bowl. Spooning the baking soda into the flour Bilba called for a beer- quickly brought to her by a confused but accepting waiter. She gradually poured in enough to create a bubbly batter and handed off the remainder to a delighted Ori. Bringing her bowl and plate of fish to the bubbling fat, holding each fillet by the tail the hobbit plunged it to the batter, then dropped them into the oil. Allowing it just enough time to crisp, Bilba placed the completed fish in a pan and set it inside the oven to keep it hot. She repeated this with three more haddocks, one by one. The potatoes were washed, cut and fried in a matter of moments, and Bilba carefully placed them on a large plate. Arranging the fish just right, a lustrous pile of gold was born and brought to the servers.

“That was beautiful,” Ori murmered, elbow-deep in meat.

“Thank you,” she said just as softly. “What are you making there?”

“ _Skaldh raf_ ,” Ori said, nodding to the recipe book. “Nobody’s ordering anything, so I figured I’d get started on our lunch tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow’s lunch!” Bilba cried, picking up the book and glancing over the instructions. “This cooks for 12 hours? That’s amazing.”

Ori smiled. “Well, 12 hours or more. _Skaldh raf_ means ‘hot slow’. Would you like to help?”

 

In the pantry, Bilba shook out her hands, braced her feet and hefted a bag of dry beans into her arms. Holding her breath, arms burning, she shuffled inch by inch from the closet to the counter and set it down with a strangled cry. Collapsing atop it Bilba caught her breath, cheek pressed against rough fabric. 

Ori followed with a bag of barley over his shoulder and brought it to the counter with ease.

She opened her eyes, keeping her expression impassive.

“ _Skaldh raf,_ ” Bilba said slowly. 

“Hot slow,” Ori nodded.

“Well then, we’d best get started.”

The pair poured beans and barley into a bowl and filled it with hot water. Across the room, servers made their rounds through the customers, Dori pausing to dust teapots on display.

Together the cooks sprinkled flour and spices on fatty brisket, then under her watchful eye Ori poured oil into a deep pot and browned the meat. The smell was succulent enough to make their mouths water, and only grew as Bilba fried onions and garlic.

Thick, slow droplets of rain grew heavier outside, and Dori went about closing the front windows.

Rain brought with it that moist, earthy smell. The outdoor light turned grey, candles were lit and the thrumming sound lulled staff and patrons alike. Instructed by Ori with recipe book in hand, the pair added all their creation together in the pot, along with potatoes, marrowbones, and the now-softened barley and beans. They poured water over the top, and stoked the flame below. 

Bilba chopped onion, and used her hands to mix it with flour and strong red spices. While she did so, Ori poured oil on the blend until it became moist enough for the hobbit to form into a loaf.

Hefting the dough to cheese cloth, Bilba wrapped it tightly as per instruction and brought it to the now boiling _skaldh raf_. Ori insisted he take it from there- “Dwarves don’t mind heat,” he explained- and gently placed the dough atop the hot stew. Then, he covered the pot tightly.

In order for it to simmer all day, the pair pushed the pot aside, to a lower heat.

“Compliments to the cooks,” Dori called from the dining room, resting his elbows on the barrier between them. He extended a slip of paper to Bilba. “Along with this, to you from the Chef’s choice fellow.”

Scribbled on the tab was bristly, bold writing.

_Thank you!_

And then, smaller:

_That was grand._

Bilba smiled, feeling her cheeks blush at the praise.

“Is that _skaldh raf_ I smell? How delicious!” An unfamiliar voice said.

“Master Balin!” Ori cried, wiping his hands on his apron before bowing respectfully.

“Balin!” Dori beamed, and lightly patted the back of a snow-bearded dwarf in warm red robes. “Welcome. Have you met our new cook?”

“Bilba Baggins, at your service,” she bowed.

“Balin, at yours,” and he swooped so low his nose could have touched the ground. “I simply couldn’t stay away a moment longer. Your cooking is the talk of the town, madam.”

Given a start at this, Bilba stammered a thank you before being caught in a one-armed squeeze from Ori and applause from his elder brother. 

Balin’s eyes crinkled when he smiled. “My brother’s been insisting I come in for a week now.”

“Ah, Dwalin. Is he well?”

“Oh yes, quite.”

“Come, come, can I interest you in a pot of tea and biscuits? Their icing is delightful.”

“But you’re working, Dori!”

“No matter! I’ll abandon you if it gets busy.”

“And you must stay for _shaldh raf_!” Ori added.

“Of course, you must!” Dori said seriously, linking arms with the scholar. “And it won’t be done until tomorrow.” The pair turned and began towards Dori’s wall of tea.

“Then I suppose you’ll be asking me to stay the night?” Balin asked conversationally.

“You simply must, I insist.”

\- - -

_The silver fox strikes again!_

Special thanks to Polandspring for suggesting and explaining Cholent and Kugel!

 _Shaldh raf_ – Cholent. The word supposedly comes from French "chaud lent" ("hot slow"). So I went on a fanon dictionary and found their Dwarvish words for “hot slow”.

Dough placed on top- Kugel


	6. Nuts

On the second day of his quest to woo the cook lass, Bofur resolved to find out her name.

He got off work the usual time, trudging under the usual filth. He waved farewell to Gloin and the other miners, making a beeline for his house to freshen up. Walking briskly through the streets, he nodded pleasantly to the neighbors and the sinking sun, already tucking herself behind blue mountains. The pine trees smelled strong and the night was calm, to soothe the excited dance of his poor heart.

Opening the door to the family’s humble abode, Bofur was met with the sight of Bifur stoking the fire and, remarkably, no kids in sight.

He cast about the place- everything was normal. The kitchen dominated the room, Bifur now pulling a chair to the stew pot. On the wall hung an orange tapestry along with several children’s drawings in charcoal. He set down his pack and pick by the door with care to be loud, to ensure his cousin knew he was there.

“Children out and about?” Bofur asked, tugging off his boots.

Bifur turned in his chair, nodding, and made little scurrying motions with his hands. Then he signed, _Sun going down._

“Yes, but they know to come back ‘round this time. I’ll give a holler if I don’t see six little heads after washing up.”

Bifur grunted, pulling a steaming kettle from the fire and handing it to him. Bofur thanked him cheerfully, the same manner he used when they did this every night. Routine was good for Bifur; made it easier for him to remember things. And Bofur knew his cousin took great care boiling that water for him before he got home; Bifur had taken it upon himself ages ago, along with supper and most of the laundry.

Bofur sat in the tub scrubbing mercilessly at himself; these days, he had to take care not to leave the casual smudge. His hair fell limply past his shoulders and he picked diligently at the snags with a comb, then working a lather from the soap he washed it- twice. But his face always felt the best after a bath; like the sweat and dust of a hundred years came off and turned the water brown. Whistling cheerfully, he even washed in between his toes. Combing his mustache, Bofur glanced over his facial hair in the hand-held mirror. Looks like it was time for a trim, too.

“I’m going out again tonight,” Bofur announced to Bifur, and six fuzzy-faced children. 

Bifur blinked owlishly, straightening up from ladling stew into little wooden bowls. Six smiles missing teeth greeted Bofur, along with chorus of hellos, goodbyes, and a giggle from the youngest as he rounded the table to give them all a light headbump- including Bifur- on his way out the door.

 

Bofur settled himself at his table in the Silver Fox. The fireplace crackled closer than he had been seated before, and the customers grew to a crowd as the supper hour went on. Bofur glanced around the kitchen until he saw the loveliest woman in Middle Earth, peeling potatoes. He couldn’t help the grin on his face, unnoticing of the servers bustling by, watching the expressions she made as she chatted with her young helper. The way her eyebrows rose and fell, and how cute her overbite was when she smiled. The way her nose wrinkled when she blew the hair out of her face.

“Are you ready to order?” Dori broke his reverie.

“Ah? Oh, everythin’s a delight, Dori. Surprise me?”

“Chef’s choice, then?” He scribbled it down as he spoke. “Weren’t you in here last night, ordering the same?”

“I was! Worked out so well, here I am again.”

Dori smiled and nodded, turning to leave, but Bofur reeled him back before he could politely end this.

“That new cook a’yours, she’s quite talented isn’t she?”

“Yes, yes, quite a wonderful cook. Says it’s commonplace, in her homeland.”

“Oh really? Fancy that! Say, eh, what’s her name? I’d like to thank her in person,” Bofur shifted, keeping his body language casual.

There was a beat. And Dori shifted too, folding his arms he smiled down at Bofur. “Bilba Baggins,” he said.

“’Bilba Baggins’,” Bofur repeated slowly, and it felt like honey on his tongue. “A lovely name for a lovely lass!”

Something glinted in Dori’s eye. 

“Yes, she is. But I must be back to work.”

“Of course! Of course! Don’t let me keep ye, have fun…” He trailed off as Dori left. Slowly, he leaned his head back against the chair and stared at the ceiling.

 

The food was outstanding. Dwarvish egg dumplings in chicken soup with a sliver of sticky walnuts and pecans in a crumbly pie crust. With it came a mint tea he sampled and found tasty if odd, and he spent his time sipping it planning his battle strategy.

First, he laid down the money for the meal. Consider it an investment. Then, he wrote the note. Now, to get to the kitchen unnoticed… He shot a glance to where Dori was. Chatting with old Oin, good. Bofur slowly rose from his seat and made his way, note and payment in hand, to where Bilba Baggins stood with her back to the main room. 

He got just to the other side of that counter dividing up the room when he felt his cheeks grow hot and his hands get sweaty. Heart galloping, he cleared his throat, and took a breath- letting it out again as he grew more flustered. This was no good, try again, once more he took a breath and-

“Ah, Bofur. I’ll see you out!” Dori was there, all warm and bracing, patting his arm as he all but steered him away.

“I was-“

“Paying for your meal I see, I’m terribly sorry if I kept you waiting!”

Bofur looked over his shoulder as he was moved away, but it was no use. She kneaded her dough like his roiling stomach.

Tomorrow then. He would speak to her tomorrow.

\- - - 

Thank you Ajir for helping me with this chapter! 

Happy Valentine’s Day everyone!


	7. Steak

Bilba folded her legs on the bed, yawning. Tomorrow may be a day off of work, but today had been exhausting. A large party had kept the kitchen bustling and she’d burned her hand making steak; only slightly, but enough to make it sting even now. She sat on the quilt in a long, loose nightgown, soaking her reddened skin in a bowl of water on the nightstand. Beside the bowl sat a small stack of recipts, on which were scribbled various compliments and messages. For a week now, somebody had come in every day, asked for Bilba to make whatever she wanted, and wrote a lovely little thank you on the tab. Today’s had been, _Thanks again! There’s a lot of folks here but you’re doing great!_ , and a winking face. It was an odd thing, the notes, but pleasant. It had made her smile to read that in the chaos of noise and flame, at any rate.

She could admit she had a weakness for words.

Blowing out the candle, she dried her hand as the room plunged into immediate darkness. The light of the moon streamed through the window, illuminating a square on the floor, and the smell of lavender tinted the air. Pulling the quilt over herself, Bilba nestled into the pillows and breathed deeply. Like wading in a pond, she felt herself sinking into dreamless sleep.

Bilba’s eyes snapped open at a noise. Her eyes swept the room, heart beating faster. With a sickness in her belly she heard it again- a clinking noise, coming from the window. With dread, she drew her eyes there, and almost screamed- a dark figure was trying to get in! Panicking, she heard the click of a lock, and she snatched the candle just as the window swung open- WHACK! Her aim was true and the metal of the candle holder connected with his skull. 

“AHHH!” For man it is was, with a male cry of shock and pain as he grabbed at his face, and a terrified screech when Bilba rushed at him, beating him back with a broom.

“DORI!” Bilba screamed. “DORI A MAN IS BREAKING IN!”

“NO!” The man cried, attempting to shield himself with his arm as she landed brutal blow after blow, “Not Dori! Please!”

But his pleas fell on deaf ears as she beat him and the door burst open, literally off its hinges as Dori barreled into the room and the man let go of the window, plummeting to the ground with a cry. Shrieking something dwarfish Dori turned and thundered down the stairs and Bilba suddenly realized Ori was in the room.

“Bilba!” He cried, and ran to her, engulfing her in a hug that burrowed her in dwarf. Gasping each breath, she held the broom so tight her knuckled were white. “Bilba, are you alright?!” He rocked her and stroked her hair, and she hugged him back.

“Menu runk skazi! Zadush men drukat!”

“Dori! Nori ai-men! Ai-menu drukat! Bakraz gamil menu!”

The pair rushed to the window and peered down to see Dori holding a dwarf off the ground. With a ludicrous amount of hair shaped like a star, the attempted intruder verbally warred with Dori as he was lowered down. Ori sighed. To Bilba’s surprise, he smirked too.

“That’s our brother Nori,” He told her.

 

The next morning was awkward.

Nobody had slept much. Bilba couldn’t get the image of a shadowy figure at the window out of her mind, and her blood hummed with adrenaline. She and Ori had sat up together in his room the better part of the night, knitting together until they drifted off on his bed. Downstairs, Dori and Nori hashed it out over tea steeped in anger, until Dori retired to his room. They made Nori sleep on the couch.

Which brought the foursome to the kitchen. The morning was young, the sun just cresting over the horizon and casting everything in yellow. Dori made breakfast at the stove, filling the room with a sizzling sound and the unmistakable smell of salted pork. The three youngest sat at the table, saying nothing and sipping tea.

“You’ve got great aim,” Nori said at last, grinning at Bilba. Indeed, a monstrous purple bruise loomed on his forehead.

“Not enough, if you are still talking,” Bilba retorted.

Ori smirked into his tea and nudged her knee with his under the table. She nudged back, still leveling Nori with a look of disapproval.

“Do you break into homes professionally, or is that a hobby?” She asked.

“I wasn’t breaking in to that room, it’s mine.”

“For not breaking in, there was a lot of lock picking.”

“We,” Nori closed his eyes and paused as Dori brought everybody a plate of eggs. Ori’s and Bilba’s had a piece of pork to make it look like a happy face. Nori’s was burnt.

“We have not been introduced. I am Nori, and I am at your service.”

“I am Bilba Baggins, and yes, you are.”

“A pleasure,” He said flatly. “Tell me Miss Baggins, what brings you to my bedroom?”

Dori opened his mouth but Bilba cut across. “I am exchanging work for boarding with your brothers.”

“Ah! Working at the old Fox?”

“Bilba’s the best cook we’ve ever had,” Ori joined in, biting into egg. “You should see how busy it is now.”

“You cook too, Ori.” She reminded him, picking up a fork as the smell of food overwhelmed her lack of appetite.

“Sure. And I like it. But I am a scribe, first and foremost. What you do with food is an art.”

Chewing her first breakfast, she waved him off, smiling.

“We all have our niches,” Nori nodded, cutting the burned portions off his food the best he could. “But who knows, Miss Baggins. You may find yourself picking a lock or two one day.”

“Burglary?” Bilba said incredulously, swallowing. “I couldn’t imagine such a thing!”

\- - - 

“Menu runk skazi! Zadush men drukat!” – I will give you a thrashing! Revenge [for] my family!

“Dori! Nori ai-men! Ai-menu drukat! Bakraz gamil menu!” – Dori! I am Nori! I am your family! You old berserker (crazy person)!


	8. Elderberry

“I see you’re keeping things interestin’,” Bofur observed casually as Nori joined him on the Ri’s sunny front porch.

Holding a slab of raw meat to his face, Nori shot back, “I see you’ve come to call like a lovesick boy. Surely you haven’t missed me that much.”

“It’s a small town this is, Nori. I hear tell you caused quite the hubbub last night; breaking into your brothers’ house drunk, fighting off Dori’s latest lover with an iron candlestick as long as my arm.”

“Well, that is close. But I just wish I was drunk.” Peeling off the steak, Nori caught sight of Bofur’s incredulous and delighted expression at the massive welt before leaning through the doorway and tossing the meat on the table. Shutting the door behind him he took a seat on the stone porch beside Bofur, who shook with mirth. So amused was Bofur he covered his mouth with a hand, laughing through his nose as Nori nodded slowly.

“Laugh. Laugh! You would not believe it. You would not believe what happened to me. I felt the icy hands of death last night.”

“Nori,” He took a breath, beaming, “Dori wouldn’t kill ya.”

“No! Not Dori, mate- there’s a woman who lives here now. They gave her my room and using a _tiny_ candle she gave me this-“ he jabbed a thumb at his own face- “And she beat my chiseled, manly body within an inch of-“

“What woman lives here? I know neither of your brothers married while you were off.”

Nori took his pipe from his pocket and stuffed it as he spoke. “An odd looking little thing. Brag somethin’. Inns? Brag Inns? _Bag_ Inns! Bilba Bag Inns.”

“Baggins?!” Bofur shrieked, straightening, heart racing, grabbing his friend by the shoulders. “Bilba Baggins lives here?”

A window was thrown open on the second story, releasing a sudden burst of cheerful whistling. Whirling where they sat, the pair saw one miss Baggins, holding a watering can aloft over the window box lavender. Her gaze drifted to them and her eyes widened, lips still puckered from whistling.

“Terribly sorry!” She called down, shutting the window with a snap.

Nori’s eyes drifted down to where Bofur still held him so earnestly, but his companion’s gaze was locked on the little window.

“Did you call her ‘odd looking’?” Bofur looked to him at last, mouth a firm line.

“Well she is, you can’t deny that!”

“I can and so help me Mahal, I shall. She is oddly charming, yes. Oddly _skilled_. Oddly adorable.”

At Nori’s perturbed look, Bofur explained, “Please help me.”

“Help you how? Help you get your hands off me because-“

“Nori please, please, I…” He swallowed, leaning away, eyes avoidant. He cleared his throat. He scratched under his hat. “I fancy the lass.”

“Bofur _no._ ” Nori breathed, hackles rising at this brazen display before him.

“I’ve been trying to talk to her, but Dori’s always-“

“Dori.” Nori nodded sagely.

A redness had crept up Bofur’s neck and his face bloomed hot. “I wouldn’t ask ya if it weren’t, very important to me.”

“Help you talk to her? Just go up and-“

“Nori.” Bofur said firmly. “Nori, it is beyond that. Your brother has been wrestling me out the door, out the window, out the alley, behind walls, under tables and ducking _kitchen knives_ for a week now. I write notes on the tab and don’t let him be my waiter.”

“Love notes on the tab? Bofur.”

“They’re not even love notes. Just friendly.”

“Bofur.”

“I am a dwarf on a quest, and I will not be coming on too strong.”

“A quest to what?” The redhead remembered he had a pipe in his hand and lit it. “You’re on a quest to court this woman?”

“If she’ll have me!” Bofur exclaimed, and Nori made a noise of despair around the pipe he puffed to life.

“You and me go back to beardless scrappin’. You know I’m serious. I am deep, deep smitten. Just now? That’s the first time I’ve heard her voice! I would shave my beard without a second thought to talk to her.”

“Enough!” Nori cried, sucking from his pipe as though it were a sanity supply. “Shave your beard- not that you have much. You are mad! Here.”

Nori handed him the pipe and Bofur’s eyes drifted to the clouds, whispy and grey, chopped to pieces by the mountains. Then to the street, where townsfolk strolled leisurely, free of responsibility for a day. Expanding the sloping scene was a sea of pine trees and elderberry. The usual breeze rustled their beards, and carried his pipe smoke away in a thin trail.

“I’ll get Dori out of the way, don’t worry,” Nori broke the companionable silence.

“Oh, I’m not. I knew you’d come ‘round.”

“You could get Ori involved too.”

“You think he’d help? I’d get Durin the Deathless involved if I thought he’d improve our chance.”

“We’ll talk to Ori, definitely. He lives for this sort of thing, and he’s in that kitchen with her.”

“He lives for warring his brother and helping the neighbor meet his housemate?”

“Isn’t that what romance is?” Nori asked facetiously.

Bofur sighed with smile he couldn’t contain, and handed him back the pipe.


	9. Apples

Bilba strolled alone, enjoying the breeze in her curls under yellowing leaves. Tiny bushels of mountain flowers cropped up from the claylike earth. She didn't stroll far from town- this was wild country- but the feel of dirt and pine needles under her toes was a daily need. Otherwise, the dwarves' endless stone and metal stifled her. Honestly, how did they bear it? She took a deep breath, admiring the rugged countryside. To think that beyond these peaks, down the rivers, past the sloping paths and merchant roads and out of sight, lay her home. Streets she could walk blindfolded and people whom had held her as a faunt.

She wondered who would pick Bag End’s apples now that she was gone. Hamfast perhaps. Or her cousins. She stopped, and turned back to the village.

“What’s the Shire like?” Ori asked her. They were seated on the porch, enjoying the weather while it lasted. The sky was grey, but it was still warm enough for a leisurely smoke and lemonade.

“Oh, divine,” she laid her head back against the chair and smirked at him. “As we speak, they’re like as not preparing for harvest- armies of hobbits in a crusade on their fields, if you can imagine such a thing. We spend weeks reaping, and preserving- pickling, drying, sugaring, smoking, jellying, storing,” She ticked these activities off on her fingers. “We work from sunrise to sunset. Then, we open last season's harvest-wine and hold one of the biggest parties of the year.”

“The party, I could get behind. Why did you leave?” Ori asked, brows furrowed.

Bilba took her pipe from her mouth. “My mother died. No, it’s quite alright- I mean, I just, wanted an adventure. She told the most wonderful stories about traveling, and the idea was daunting but, staying where she died... Oh, I know.” She straightened, fanning out her hands as she spoke. “It had been like a heap of frosting and no cake. The point was missing, you know, and it was too messy.”

Ori nodded, switching out his pipe for a sip of lemonade. “I understand that. When my mother died, decades ago, Dori took everything she did on himself. I remember resenting it, for a while. I didn’t want to be reminded of her every day.”

Bilba nodded, lips pursed.

Ori stuck his pipe back in his mouth. “Looking back, I think that’s just how Dori makes out. We’ve had a hard time, sometimes, but Dori always kept a stiff mustache. Never collapsed into tears like me, or… tried to claw a way out, like Nori. He marches forward like a miner. Nobody cares about all the work they do, miners. But it’s needed. So they do it anyway.”

“That makes sense.” Bilba muttered. “Do you miss her? Your mother?”

He paused.

“Not really,” Ori replied with a thoughtful frown. “I don’t even think about her than much.”

“But she’s your mother!”

“Sure she is. But so is Dori, and Nori sometimes, and Master Balin, and the stone I walk on. My mother is part of me, but she isn’t the only part of me. She’s not the only one who’s ever loved me, or taken care of me.”

Bilba frowned at her pipe, watching the embers glow.

“You know, I,” She took a small breath, “I only meant to stay for a little while. I thought I would have left weeks ago, but I’ve, postponed it again and again.”

Ori smiled, looking sidelong at her. “I’m glad you have.”

“Is that so?” Bilba raised her eyebrows at him.

“Mm-hm. When you want to leave, that’s alright. But, it’s alright to want to stay too. You’re not choosing a side.”

She watched him wordlessly.

“And I know you can’t stand him, but this is the most Nori’s hung around in years,” he chuckled.

Bilba made a noise of disgust, turning away. “The next thing you’ll tell me is he fancies me!”

“Well, he doesn’t.”

“Why Ori, I’m flattered.”

“I’m sorry. My ship doesn’t sail for beardless women.” He took a drink from his lemonade.

“Do you know who has been leaving me these notes at the Fox?” Bilba asked conspiratorially around her pipe.

Ori puffed his own leaf before shrugging. “Perhaps.”

“You are evil! Tell me!”

“I am sworn under oath.”

“You did not swear over this.”

“I swear I did.”

Bilba held her drink in one hand and with the other, rubbed at her eye. “You don’t understand, I dislike being kept from something. What is going on?”

“You’re so curious! Could it be this chase excites you?”

“No! I have yet to see anything of interest- no flowers, no sheep, no money. Thus far I have seen a recluse who cannot decide even what to eat.”

Ori laughed. “Say you were to see flowers, sheep, and money. Would you be interested?”

“Absolutely not! I am a free spirit, Master Ri. I have places to go, people to meet. Men have yet to impress me and I doubt they ever shall.”

“That’s fair. Although, a good time with a man doesn’t mean domestic shackles,” Ori reasoned.

“Yes,” she extinguished her pipe. “It does.”

“Hobbits, how do they look at courting?”

“Courting is for marriage, and marriage is for birthing fat babies.”

“Not a chance!” Ori exclaimed. “I refuse to believe your people are so cynical.”

“Perhaps they aren’t, but I am.” She adopted a mocking voice, “‘Bilba, why don’t you just pick one?’ ‘Bilba, a lady cannot live all by herself.’ ‘Bilba, everybody wants children of their own. You’ll change your mind!’ Bah! As if what I want for my life is quaint. As if I have nothing better to do than that!”

“I’d like it,” Ori mused, a bit quietly.

“Oh, well, not to say that there’s anything wrong with it.” She amended hastily. “But it’s not the life for me.”

“You know what’s best for you,” Ori nodded. “But don’t be afraid to look at things- let me finish!- don’t be afraid to look at things like love outside of what you’ve been badgered about. You’re not a mill made for babies, absolutely not. And you don’t have to lose your own self to a man. That’s not what love is. Love isn’t even about marriage- forget marriage!” 

Ori set down his drink and his pipe and took Bilba’s hand in his own, cold and wet from the glass. He gave it a squeeze as he spoke.

“Love is connecting with another person, and even if you don’t live together forever, you always remember them. That’s all.”

\- - -

A huge thank you to Ajir!! For dragging me by the bootstraps out of writer's block, once again.


	10. Thyme

Clinking, clattering, sizzling and talking swilled together to form a loud and chaotic restaurant. Bilba and Ori slaved away, wiping brows on their sleeves as the ovens joined such a hot day. All the windows were open to the blaze and Bilba’s bizarre dish of cucumbers soaked in vinegar and sugar was wildly popular. August was drawing to a close, dying like a star in a final burst of heat. Bilba had never seen dwarves so undressed; furry forearms and chests were a bizarre sight. 

Sweaty and frazzled looking servers bustled about and poured pitcher after pitcher of water. “We’re out of ice!” They cried to Dori. Stacking plates beside him, he scrubbed away to keep enough clean dishes for the crowd. 

“This is dreadful!” Dori cried. “The day is half-done and the alcohol is getting warm!”

“My desserts are going to collapse,” Bilba put her wrists to her forehead. Praline frosting didn't drip down her buttermilk-walnut cake, but it sure felt like it could. “Dori, we should offer ice and wet towels to the customers.”

“Damn the customers!” Ori exclaimed, pushing back his bangs. “We need ice to lie down on.”

“Don’t swear.” His brother chided.

“Where is Nori?” Bilba demanded, chopping hen and craning her neck for a bit of breeze through the window. “He can find us ice.”

“Why would I get you ice to lie on?” Nori asked incredulously, leaning casually on a counter.

“Damn!” Dori jumped, then clutched his heart with a soapy hand. “Ice for the customers! Massive blocks we can chisel.”

“The Drum would probably have some to spare.” Ori remarked. He and Nori exchanged sidelong smirks. Dori shook his head, unseeing.

“My pride forbids it,” the eldest lamented. “But my desperation says to try.”

“Now what’s the Drum?” Bilba asked, eyes on her cooking meat. She crushed thyme and sprinkled it on the whitening hen.

“The only other restaurant in town.” Ori explained, ladeling gravy onto a plate. “They have a much larger place, surely a huge cellar--”

“Yes, thank you.” Dori frowned. “It’s a good thing we are a teashop then, not a restaurant. Nori, go begging.”

“Oh, very well.” He sighed, and strolled slowly through the chaos, the door chiming in his wake.

 

Boots slapping the road he barrelled down the street, rounding the corner in seconds and ignoring the calls that he had surely stolen something. The press of air cooling his face he leapt over crates and evaded pedestrians, never slowing down. He whirled passed the second block and saw it- the Drum, standing tall with children in its shade. In heartbeats he was careening into the door and yanking it open.

It held fast.

Panting, he turned to the window- CLOSED.

“Nori, you look disgusting.” One of the children said.

“You’re closed?” He turned to the little wretch.

“We’re always closed Sundays. Da’s helping Ma make-”

“Is Bofur working?” He swallowed, still catching his breath.

The kid’s lip curled distastefully at his ignorance. “If Uncle Bo worked the mines in this heat he’d be dead.”

Nori tossed up his hands. That’s right, a miner! He’d forgotten not everybody worked in a restaurant. “Where is he then?”

“Getting sheep.” The child’s tone clearly told him he was an idiot for not knowing this.

Nori blinked. “Where?”

The children all pointed east. Sighing dramatically, east he ran.

 

Thank Mahal this was a boring, economically depressed town and there was one road east. Thank _Mahal_. After getting dizzy from lack of water and regretting this decision immensely, he found a shirtless Bofur walking back along the dirt road. In one arm was a white tuft of legs and wool, the other holding his shirt over the beast to give it shade.

“Look at this!” Bofur beamed at him, all dimples. “She’s a wee little lamb.”

“Water,” Nori croaked. Bofur handed him a massive canteen slung on his shoulder.

He took many great gulps before speaking again. “I don’t, want to know, Bofur. But Miss Bossy Baggins, phew! She wants ice from the Drum. Miserable. They’re out of ice.” He drank again.

He regretted this decision as well because Bofur let out a whoop and took off running towards town.

 

Nori, Bofur, Bombur and Bombur’s wife shoved the crate full of ice all the way to the back door of the Silver Fox. The alley provided blessed shade and they drank heartily from water canteens- after ensuring the lamb on a leash had her fill. Bofur all but bounded over the steps, rapping the kitchen door heartily. His smile could have split his face.

“Oh thank Durin!” Ori sounded close to tears, swinging the door open and hollering back- “We need volunteers for the ice!” And a great clamor swelled. Ori hopped out, then Dori, then a handful of customers with picks. Bofur snatched up the lamb as they pooled into the alley. A good natured cheer rose at the sight of the great blocks and they set to work breaking off chunks and hauling them inside. But Bofur stood caked in sweat and filth and shirtless, holding a bleating lamb, looking around.

“Where’s Bilba?” He asked Ori.

“Have we met?” A voice came from the doorway. Looking up, he saw Bilba Baggins with her hands on her hips and the crowd faded away. 

Her apron was splattered in blood and grease and her bodice soaked with sweat. Her frazzled hair flew away from her face like the sun’s rays. He swallowed, and took off his hat.

“Not properly, madam,” he said.


	11. Eggplant

_It's been exactly one year since the last update, and I'd just like to take a sec here and thank each and every person who has shown me and this fic support over the long hiatus. I get these little notifications on my phone when they're posted, so I'll be out getting groceries or whatever and 'ping!' and it's just really sweet. You guys have been great, and I'm sorry this update is SO short. I just really felt like I needed to post something today, and resolve that cliffhanger. Expect two more updates after this one!_

\- - - - - 

_Tang tang tang!_ Knife beat skillet’s edge, flinging butter to a hot death. With deft hands mushrooms were tossed, with bacon and breadcrumbs and garlic, and packed in the belly of a fresh caught trout. The sun was setting, bathing her kitchen in yellow, and the fire in her oven popped as she slid the pan inside. Her table was set for one, with all earthen dishes, in a round room more than a little cluttered, and her mother watched from a frame on the wall. Wiping hands on her apron, Bilba shot her glance. 

The company was quieter here.

She hesitated, and began chopping eggplant with a broad knife. 

“...Are you happy that I’m home?” She asked Belladonna at length. The painting did not answer, and Bilba frowned.

“...I am,” she continued, scraping the vegetables off her cutting board and into the skillet. “I missed this place.”

She paused. The only sounds were sizzling vegetables and a crackling fire, and the evening was breezy outside her window. It smelled of freshly cut grass- she breathed it in deeply.

“I missed the grass," She muttered. "And Longbottom Leaf. I missed you, Mum. I missed my bed... Nori, you know- Nori never did give me a moment’s peace about how it was HIS bed I slept in.”

Nobody took the bait and made an inappropriate joke. Had Ori been here, well, he certainly would have. And Dori would throw his hands up in exasperation, declaring the pair of them could take their act on the road. Bilba smiled at the thought, and retreated to fetch a book.

\- - - - - 

The door was chiming _again_. From her kitchen, noise of a rowdy party was gaining momentum.

“Now see here!” She cried, marching to yank it open. Cool air rushed in but did naught for her temper. “Just how many dwarves are going to come hanging on the bell toni-"

She gasped.

"Ori!”

“Bilba!” He broke from his brothers and scooped her up in a hug. “I have missed you!”

She squeezed him tight. "And I've missed you! What are you doing here? ...Are these your dwarves?” She demanded of Dori from her perch. 

“Only these two,” He supplied from her doorway, waiting to come in until she beckoned him. Ori placed her down so she could toss her arms about Dori’s shoulders, and she beamed as he squeezed her back.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting a hug from me then,” Nori sighed, extending his arms.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“Wow.”

“How have you _been_?” Dori asked emphatically, clasping her hands in his.

Shrugging, she said, “I’ve been better! There’s a grand party in my smail that I’m not invited to!”

“Speaking of which,” Nori offered, looking around, “This is a nice place you have here. I see why you liked talking about it so much.”

“We knew it had to be Bag End the moment we saw it,” Ori smiled toothily, slinging his pack from his shoulder. “What with the tree on top and everything.”

“Thank you,” She nodded graciously, hands on her hips. “I am quite fond of it. Come in, and join the others I suppose.”

She waited as they removed their packs, then weapons, and hung their cloaks, and pulled off various knitted wear. Her entryway had become truly a madhouse of dwarvish clothing and carry ons- just piles of the stuff, so she gestured vaguely when they asked where to set their things. As they made their way to the throng, Bilba leaned towards Ori and muttered, “In earnest though, what are you all doing here?”


End file.
